


The Jacket Effect

by calathea



Category: Macdonald Hall - Korman
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-23
Updated: 2009-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-05 01:58:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/36547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calathea/pseuds/calathea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruno gets a leather jacket and accidentally blows Boots' mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Jacket Effect

**Author's Note:**

> Beta by lynnmonster

Their final year began with the same chaos as every year that had gone before. Within two days of arriving, the floor of their dorm room was awash in dirty laundry and candy wrappers, the fresh paint on the walls had been dinged and scuffed, and a mysterious damp mark had appeared on the ceiling that Bruno swore looked like a face. Boots weathered the confusion as best he could, knowing that the implacable force of Fudge's insistence on something approaching tidiness would eventually defeat Bruno's penchant for disorder. In the meantime, a battle was fought over whether Bruno's socks on the floor were just a smelly reminder of Tuesday's softball game or an important facet of the fight against oppression and Boots took refuge in hundreds of peaceful laps in the swimming pool.

Life at the Hall settled into what passed for normality. Friends wandered in and out of their room to complain about their class schedules, share answers on math homework, and listen to Bruno's wild-eyed schemes for world domination. Boots signed Sidney's latest cast (a broken ankle resulting from an incident involving a dog, a flower pot and a large tin bath), admired Elmer's geckoes, and laughed and complained when Bruno plotted mayhem far into the night. Life was crazy, but familiar.

It all changed the day Boots found the jacket in the closet.

* * * * * * * * * * *  


Boots came back from swimming and started to root around in the closet for his favourite shirt. He stood, shirtless, searching first through his own belongings, and then, muttering, through Bruno's motley collection of attire. Right at the back of the closet, where he would normally expect to find the sweaters Bruno's grandma sent him for Christmas and other assorted monstrosities, was a black leather jacket, scuffed and beaten at the cuffs and elbow. He pulled it out and stared at it.

Bruno clattered into the room. He was wearing Boots' shirt.

"Hi," he said, throwing his book bag on the floor and flinging himself on his bed. "God, I hate English Lit. Who cares what some dippy poet thought about flowers? People shouldn't be allowed to own pens if they're start writing goofy rhymes about the springtime."

Boots raised an eyebrow and held the jacket out. "Got a secret life as a biker that I should know about?"

Bruno grinned and raised himself up on his elbow. "It belonged to my cousin Robbie until he grew out of it. He gave it to me this summer so we could go to a bar together. He said my regular clothes wouldn't convince anyone I was 19. His girlfriend told me it makes me look like James Dean."

Boots laughed. "I bet James Dean didn't steal his best friend's shirts." He looked pointedly at the shirt Bruno was wearing.

Bruno jumped up from the bed and started unbuttoning the shirt, revealing a plain white t-shirt underneath, tucked into worn jeans. "I like this shirt."

Boots smirked. "It looks better on me though."

Bruno tossed the shirt at his head. He grabbed the jacket out of Boots' hand and slipped it on. "See? I am so James Dean. "

He posed in the middle of the room, hands in his pockets, jacket open over his t-shirt and jeans. Boots looked up from putting on his shirt, still warm from Bruno's body ready to make a sarcastic comment.

His mouth dried up. His fingers paused on the button he was doing up. Blood roared in his ears.

He knew Bruno had spent the summer at his uncle's farm, and had not gone home to his parents' before school started. The little changes the summer had wrought that Boots had only half-noticed – the leaner, more muscled body, the work calluses on the tanned hands – were all suddenly thrown into sharp relief. Bruno's hair was sun-lightened, a little longer than his mother would have allowed. It brushed the worn collar of the jacket and lay rakishly tousled across his forehead. His face was a little thinner, and his brown eyes were sparkling with laughter.

This was a different Bruno; an older and altogether more wicked looking Bruno; a dangerously attractive Bruno. The Bruno Boots knew was a semi successful rabble-rouser. This Bruno looked like he could incite a riot with a grin.

Boots' stomach lurched. This Bruno did not look like he would have a best friend called Melvin.

"Don't you think I look 19? I got into that bar no problem." Bruno was grinning widely. He twirled around. His jeans were tight, hugging his hips and thighs. Boots fumbled desperately for an amusing comeback.

A bell rang in the background. "Dinner!" said Bruno, looking at the clock. "Thank God, I'm starving." He peeled off the leather jacket and dumped it on his bed. As if released from a spell, Boots found he could speak again.

"You're always starving. It's spaghetti tonight." Boots was quite proud of his voice – it didn't squeak, or sound hoarse, the way he thought it might.

Bruno had turned away to the closet, and was pulling on another shirt. Boots' fingers moved mechanically over the buttons of his own, conveniently pre-wrinkled, shirt. Bruno turned back to him. In a stripy shirt and half-outgrown jeans, his hair flattened from dragging his shirt over his head, his shoelaces flapping, he was just Bruno again, just Boots' best friend, who hated poetry and loved spaghetti.

They left their room. Bruno threw an arm around Boots' shoulders as they walked towards the dining room. "So, Boots, old buddy old pal, since I gave back your shirt, will you help me with my English homework?"

And Boots was laughing, and elbowing his friend, and pushing his uneasy memory of the other Bruno to the back of his mind. When they went back to their room after dinner, Bruno shoved the jacket carelessly back into the closet.

* * * * * * * * * * *  


The next time Boots saw the jacket was a Friday. They were preparing to sneak over to see Diane and Cathy. It was colder now, and Boots dug a sweater out of a drawer. Bruno casually shrugged into the leather jacket.

Bruno and Boots sat on the carpet in the girls' room and recounted Bruno's current schemes. At least, Bruno did. Boots watched the familiar stranger in a black leather jacket and picked at a loose thread on his sweater. Cathy and Diane didn't seem to notice anything different. They called Bruno a loser as often as ever.

Boots said good-bye first, and took the drainpipe route out of the building. Bruno followed, sliding blithely down the drainpipe until, 10 feet from the ground, he lost his grip and fell. He flailed around in mid-air for a second, before descending in a rush onto the ground – and onto Boots.

They grabbed at one another, Boots' arms going round Bruno's waist. They reeled and staggered. The leather jacket scrunched as Boots clung on to his friend.

"Good catch!" Bruno whispered loudly. His breath blew warmly into Boots' shoulder as he laughed.

Bruno almost fell when Boots hurriedly let him go again.

It was midnight before they got to bed. At 5am, Boots gave up on sleeping and slipped out the room to the swimming pool. He thrashed his way back and forth in the pool, trying to wash the feel of Bruno away.

When he went back to room 306, Bruno was still asleep, half covered by his blankets, half exposed to cold air. He was wearing flannel pyjamas, a sure sign that he needed to do laundry. Asleep, he looked young and innocent, no trace of the revolutionary on his freckled face. His long dark lashes fanned over his cheeks. Boots watched him sleep for a few moments, and then turned away and began to towel his hair dry.

* * * * * * * * * * *  


Boots had started to call it the Jacket Effect in his head. A perfectly normal day, with class, and Wilbur eating everyone's lunch, and Sidney falling in a ditch, and homework and wild schemes in Room 306, would suddenly tilt sideways when Bruno appeared in his jacket and grinned dangerously at Boots. Boots would lose his breath, his stomach would do a tap dance around his shoes and his heart would leap up into his throat.

Then the rearrangement of his internal organs started to happen even when the jacket was not in evidence. Even when Bruno wore stripy shirts. Even when he was complaining about poetry.

One day at lunch, Elmer interrupted a conversation about the crappy old car Larry's father had given him.

"You seem to be observing Bruno very closely, Boots."

Boots jolted. All the guys around the table looked at him.

"I, uh. I'm wondering how he got all the ink off his face from yesterday's exploding Bic pen." he lied.

Bruno rolled his eyes at him. "You should know. You laughed hard enough when I was scrubbing it off."

Elmer was still looking at Boots. After a moment or two, he seemed to reach a conclusion, nodded his head, smiled almost sympathetically at Boots, and started describing the working of the carburettor to Larry in intricate detail.

Swimming late that night, Boots remembered that smile with an inward shudder. Rather than counting his strokes, he started to chant a new mantra in time with the movement of his arms: "Bruno is my _best friend_. Bruno is my _best friend_."

* * * * * * * * * * *

Bruno and Boots hadn't applied to all the same colleges but their first choice was the same – the University of Western Ontario. As it turned out, their acceptance letters arrived on the same day. Bruno danced them around in a wild jig in the corridor of Dormitory 3, whooping with glee, and startled Sidney so badly he accidentally pulled a bookcase over onto his head.

Once they got back from the infirmary Bruno was a little more subdued. Suddenly though he pointed a finger at Boots, "You and me! Friday. Drinking at McGinty's."

McGinty's was the local bar and strictly off-limits to MacDonald Hall students. The recklessly wicked grin was back on Bruno's face, though, and Boots - who would normally have referred to their likely expulsion and refused - found himself agreeing to everything.

He had time to regret this on Friday. Bruno was determined to make him look old enough to drink, which seemed to involve making him stand in the middle of room 306 in his most presentable jeans while Bruno combed through his wardrobe making disparaging remarks.

"Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Makes you look 12. Ugly. Boots, you have to stop letting your mom buy your clothes. Ugly." Bruno rattled through the hangers in the closet.

"You're the one with all the stripes." Boots muttered under his breath, trying not to think about his recent reactions to those stripy shirts. "C'mon Bruno, I'm getting cold here."

Finally, Bruno settled on a blue shirt, no different, as far as Boots could tell, from all the other shirts in his wardrobe. Dutifully, he dressed, and listened to Bruno tell him how to act.

"Just don't look nervous. Try to look like _of course_ you're 19." Boots scowled at Bruno.

Bruno moved in close, and Boots caught his breath. Cool hands sifted through his hair, pushing it back off his forehead. Bruno stepped back, and grinned at his creation. "Well, that's as good as we're going to get. Let's go!"

He slung his leather jacket over his shoulder, and urged Boots over the windowsill and out into the night.

At the bar, Boots hung back, certain he was about to be caught and thrown out, but after only a cursory glance at their fake IDs, they were seated at the bar, nursing a beer apiece.

"We're going to have so much fun at Western." Bruno was grinning. Boots agreed out loud, but privately wondered if Bruno had realized that going to college meant leaving behind his beloved MacDonald Hall. Sure enough, two beers later, this very thought struck Bruno.

"The world is crumbling around me! What will I do without the guys? And the Fish? And… and…" Bruno howled plaintively.

The large bartender, who had up to this point ignored them except to take their orders, started to move towards them menacingly.

"Bruno! Shut up! You're going to get us thrown out!" hissed Boots, tugging at his friend's arm.

The bartender came closer. Boots smiled at him in a sickly way and tugged Bruno off his barstool, tossing a couple of dollars onto the bar as he guided Bruno towards the exit. Bruno stumbled as they walked, and Boots held on to him more firmly.

Out in the cold night, Bruno seemed to sober up a little, but Boots held on to him all the same. Bruno continued to lament the end of life as they knew it. They'd walked – or staggered – most of the way back before Bruno ran out of steam. He suddenly stopped in the middle of the road. "But I'll still have you, old buddy, old pal, still got my best friend Boots."

Boots hauled him on towards the school. "Yeah, you'll have me, but not if we're squashed flat on the road."

By the time they were back under their window at Dormitory 3, Bruno was giggling and leaning heavily on Boots. Boots had to give him a boost into the window. When he scrambled in himself, Bruno was flopped out on his bed, his shoes abandoned in the middle of the floor, still wearing all his clothes.

Boots sighed, and sat down tiredly on the floor next to Bruno's bed. For the second time that night, long fingers wove into his hair. "Told you I could make you look 19."

He looked up into Bruno's eyes. "Yeah, you did."

Bruno leaned down a little more. "Told you." He blinked slowly. Boots breathed in sharply, and before he could think about it, he reached up to Bruno, and pressed their lips together.

The angle and Bruno's surprise made it awkward. Boots pulled away, but Bruno's fingers were still tangled in his hair. He was drawn back up to Bruno's mouth. Bruno's kiss was shockingly gentle. He tasted of Juicy Fruit and beer. Boots reached up and caught the soft leather of Boots' collar.

It was Bruno who pulled away. Boots' hands dropped to his sides as Bruno threw himself onto his back on the bed. After a moment, he worked up the nerve to half-kneel, and turn to face Bruno. Who was asleep, his lips still parted. Boots dropped back to the floor, and put his head in his hands.

* * * * * * * * * * *

He was starting to get used to swimming at 5 a.m. He turned underwater as he reached the wall. His determined mantra had deserted him, and for a couple of laps he swam to endless questions "Is Bruno still my friend? Will he ever talk to me again? Will he make me move in with Elmer?"

Then he pushed it all away and started counting with grim determination, concentrating hard on his stroke, on his line through the water, in order to forget the feel of Bruno's mouth on his.

On his 20th lap, he saw a dark shape huddled at the end of his lane, sitting on a pile of flutter boards. He kicked hard away from the wall.

On his 24th lap, the shape was still there.

On his 27th lap, he knew he had to stop and face the music.

The 28th lap seemed very short. He reached the wall, pulled off his goggles and swim cap, and folded his arms over the edge of the pool. Bruno was wearing his flannel pyjamas, a sweater and, inevitably, the leather jacket.

"Hi," he said, breathing hard.

"Hi Bruno replied, hugging his jacket closer to him. "Man, it's cold in here. How can you swim at this hour? Wait. How can you be awake at this hour?"

"I like it." Boots said, stupidly. Bruno just looked at him.

"Are you going to come out?" Bruno asked, getting up and offering his hand. "I can't talk to you when you're down there."

Boots held up his hand, and boosted himself out as Bruno pulled him upwards. He quickly grabbed a towel and his t-shirt, preferring to be damp than half-naked. Bruno resumed his seat on the flutter boards, and after a moment Boots joined him.

"So," said Bruno, looking at his hands "I guess last night was… interesting." Boots said nothing.

Bruno nudged him in the ribs. "I wasn't complaining."

Boots looked up. Bruno laid a hand over his, leaned in, and kissed him again. It was a quick kiss, and Boots didn't even manage to close his eyes. Bruno leaned his forehead against Boots'. "Can this… Can this wait?" he asked.

Boots was confused. He pulled away to look Bruno in the eye. "Wait?"

"Wait until we're done here. Wait until we're not at MacDonald Hall."

"You want to wait?" Boots asked, still puzzled.

"Yeah."

"You mean you want this?" Boots asked, incredulous.

Bruno looked at him like he was crazy. "Of course I want this! Do you think I'm stupid? I just don't want it yet. I want it to be like it always has been, just a while longer. So can you wait?"

Boots took a deep breath. He felt shaky, but for the first time, his insides weren't in the wrong places. "Yeah. I can wait."

They looked at one another. Bruno reached out to brush a drop of water away from Boots' cheek.

"You're shivering." Bruno said. "Here, take this."

He pulled off the leather jacket and draped it over Boot's shoulders. Boots pushed his arms into the sleeves.

Bruno looked at Boots appraisingly. "Hey, you know, you look pretty good in that jacket. Hot, even."

Boots flushed.

"Hey, I'm allowed to look." said Bruno. He flashed his wicked grin at Boots, and for a second Boots saw it, saw how it would be, one day.

Bruno laughed suddenly, dragged Boots to his feet and said "Come on, let's go back. You can introduce me to the wonders of breakfast."

Bruno slung an arm around Boot's shoulders, and they set off back to the dorm.


	2. Alterations

Tuesday nights, while Bruno is, unwillingly, attending his required Freshman Writing Seminar, Boots goes to the LGBTQ2 meeting on campus.

* * * * * * * * *

Boots was terrified at the first meeting. He arrived at the meeting room far too early, and hid himself in a corner, trying to be inconspicuous. He tapped his fingers on his knee and tried not to panic. What if they all want to talk about_ decorating_ and _Celine Dion_ concerts? What if they want to know the details of his love life? What if they recognize him from the freshman swim team and tell everyone about him? After five minutes of sweaty tension, a small group of people walked in, laughing at something. Others followed them, some arriving alone, some in couples. Some hugged and exclaimed over one another, asking about summer activities. A few people migrated, like Boots, to the darker corners, and looked nervous.

A dark-haired guy finally walked into the room carrying a box. He started putting out leaflets on a table at the front of the room. A few of the people who seemed like regulars went up to help him. Handouts arranged, the guy looked up, clapped his hands, and called "Let's get started, people!" The people still chatting in the middle of the room quieted down and found seats. The man introduced himself as Matt, a Music major, and gay. He invited some other people in the room to identify themselves – Anna, the student government LGBT liaison; Rick, a counselor over at Student Services; and a couple of other people whose names Boots didn't catch. Matt started talking about why the meeting was held – to introduce LGBT students to one another, to set up social events, to create opportunities for campus-wide issues to be discussed – and talked about services on campus for LGBT students. They stopped after half an hour for coffee and cookies. Boots stayed in his corner, and just watched.

Matt was walking round the room, talking to the people Boots had pegged as new to the meeting. Boots's stomach knotted up tighter and tighter as Matt made his way round to his corner. He looked down and watched Matt's dirty sneakers walk toward him. Boots made himself look up, but only managed to drag his eyes as far as Matt's chin.

"Hi." Matt smiled kindly at Boots. "You doing OK?"

Boots muttered something he hoped sounded like an affirmative.

"Shy?" asked Matt, his smile widening. "C'mon, I don't bite. Or, not unless you ask me to."

Boots looked up into Matt's eyes, startled. "I'm fine. Fine. Yeah."

"OK," said Matt, "You can hang out over here if you like. No pressure, just, if you want to talk, you can do that too." He grinned some more, and Boots was momentarily reminded of Bruno, with his reckless wide smile and his total faith in Boots.

Boots tried to smile back. Matt moved away, and called everyone's attention back to the front of the room.

* * * * * * * * *

The last months at McDonald Hall had been incredible. Bruno, always energetic, had flung himself into their final weeks with the determination to wring every last drop of enjoyment from the experience. There had been weird science, experimental gecko-powered contraptions, spontaneous flooding and other mud-related natural disasters, and, overseeing it all, the evil genius of Bruno Walton, rebel and instigator extraordinaire.

They hadn't talked about IT again since the night by the pool. (Boots couldn't find a word for his feelings, or their decision, so he just called it IT). Things had been awkward for a few days; Boots had felt like his skin was stretched too thin over his body, so that every look from Bruno was like a needle in his hide. He had swum a little more than usual that week, and spent more time alone in the shower, remembering that first kiss. After a while, though, it seemed that Bruno was intent on doing exactly what he'd said: waiting until they were done at McDonald Hall. Not just waiting – leaving it alone. Boots found he could live with that, and, mostly, he pushed it all to the back of his mind. There were minutes though – hours, sometimes – when he regretted that early morning decision. They had some quiet moments, talking in their room, stretched out on the floor or outside by the cannon when the weather started to warm up, when Boots wished he could touch and be touched. There were the times when Bruno, his eyes sparkling with maniacal intensity, pounded on the table or Boots's desk, and Boots wanted to grab him and… do something else with all that energy.

At graduation, Boots, already seated with his own certificate, noticed the look of relief on the Fish's face as he shook Bruno's hand for what he must be devoutly hoping was the last time. Then he saw nothing but Bruno. Bruno who came down the stairs from the stage and _winked_ at him, waving his rolled-up certificate, his wicked stranger's grin much in evidence. Boots's stomach flipped and danced then, at the promise Bruno made with just a smile. But their parents descended upon them, and Bruno and Boots were separated by small talk and family and packing until the very last moment.

Their room looked small and bare when all their stuff was boxed up. Alone in room 306 with Bruno, Boots felt like he had swallowed a pair of socks. His throat hurt, his eyes burned. Bruno wasn't looking any better. Finally, Bruno broke the silence, a little hoarsely. "So. We'll be together again at Western in September."

"Yeah," said Boots, his voice no better, "And you have my e-mail?"

Bruno nodded. They turned together, and left the room. Bruno closed the door behind them.

* * * * * * * * *

The second meeting had been a little easier. Boots almost didn't go, because he hadn't ever managed to relax at the first one, not even enough to go up to the front and collect some of the leaflets. Bruno had gone to his class, though, and he didn't have any reading he cared about doing, and he was in the neighbourhood, so he went.

This week, a few of the other new people joined in the greeting and chatting. Boots hid in his corner again, and tried to look like he wasn't listening in to the conversations.

"…don't think I've ever been in so much pain. Cartilage piercings hurt a lot more than just earlobes," one girl was saying, fingering her ear.

"… you see the game on Sunday? Man, I thought for sure we were going to win until the last 10 minutes." Three guys stood talking by the door.

No evidence of Celine Dion, Boots thought, relieved.

Matt walked into the room. The meeting started much like the previous week, only this time Matt outlined some of the events that were coming up once the semester really got going. A party in a couple of weeks. Some speakers. A big parade in the spring semester.

Coffee break. This time, Boots worked up the courage to get a drink and a chocolate chip cookie. He sidled back to his seat and watched while other people talked to each other.

"You came back." Matt swung a chair around and straddled it, facing Boots.

Boots nodded, chewing on his cookie so he didn't have to speak.

"I saw you on campus this week a couple of times. You're on the swim team, right?" Matt asked, casually.

Boots swallowed, and said "Yeah, freshman."

Matt smiled at him. "And I see you with this one guy a lot. He's your boyfriend?"

Boots almost choked on a cookie crumb. "My _boyfriend_. No… that is. I don't…We…I mean…"

Matt laughed. Boots felt his face flush, until he thought must look like a lobster. He started to get up, almost dropping his coffee cup, throwing cookie crumbs everywhere. Matt half-stood up as well. "No, don't. I'm sorry. Really, sit down."

Boots sat.

Matt touched his hand. "I didn't realize that was a sore point. Don't get mad. Stay, finish your coffee."

Boots nodded tightly. Matt smiled again, more uncertainly this time. "Well, OK," Matt said, "now I'm going to go start part two."

Boots spent the rest of the meeting miserably contemplating his sneakers, only half listening to Matt talking about where to go with sexual health questions.

* * * * * * * * *

The summer between finishing at the Hall and starting at Western seemed really long. Boots went home to his parents' house, and worked in a bookstore for the summer, swimming at the local pool during his lunch hour and at home every night after work. This far away from Bruno, their decision, the whole situation, seemed huge and frightening and incomprehensible. He tried to tell himself that nothing was settled, that he could tell Bruno that he had a girlfriend back home and it would all be OK. He tried to be interested in the girls at the pool. He could see they were pretty. Some of them even seemed to be interested in him. They would come over to him, try to start a conversation. One of them gave him her phone number.

But it was Bruno his body woke up wanting at three in the morning. It was that one little kiss with Bruno that he replayed over and over in his mind, not the pretty girls prancing around the pool in their bikinis. His thoughts spiralled out in wild fantasies from that one night – what if Bruno hadn't fallen asleep, what if they'd made out that morning on the flutter boards? He went through a pair of boxer shorts a night and had to tell his mom he was practicing doing laundry for when he was at college.

Bruno e-mailed him regularly. Boots told him about the store, and the stupid customers, and about the weather. Bruno was back at his uncle's, and talked about his cousins, and pigs, and the weather. Boots didn't mention the girls, or his nighttime thoughts. He wondered what Bruno wasn't telling him.

Boots realized he didn't really know what guys did together, not properly. He worked in the only bookstore in town, so he couldn't order or buy anything without everyone he worked with knowing about it, and anyway, his parents or his sister would be sure to find a book no matter how well he thought it was hidden. He had to share the computer at home with his sister, so he couldn't very well look on the internet in case she found out, and his one attempt to look it up on the computer at the library left him with a warning page saying he was trying to access prohibited material. Frustrated, he eventually found a copy of a dry, medical sort of book that explained some of the mechanics, and hid at a desk in a little-used corner of the reference section to read.

For the next week, he didn't fantasize at all, but winced every time he thought about it.

* * * * * * * * *

By the fourth or fifth meeting, Boots was the only one not joining in the conversations before the meeting and during the coffee break. Matt hadn't come over to talk to him since the second week. Boots felt a lot more relaxed, though. He smiled at a couple of the girls now at the start of the meeting, and once he had seen one of them around on campus, and he had waved. She had looked surprised, but had waved back cheerfully enough. He'd managed to snag a couple of the leaflets at the end of the last meeting, and they were tucked away in his desk drawer in his dorm room.

The meeting started, and Matt started talking about an incident on campus over the weekend. Two male students had been caught kissing outside a party, and the next day the word "FAG" had been spray-painted on one of their cars in the parking lot. A lot of people in the room were angry, and Matt was trying desperately to keep order and get the group to make a decision about what to do. Finally, he insisted on pausing for coffee. Boots leaned back in his chair, watching the rest of the group drift in chattering bunches over to the coffee table. He wasn't particularly impressed by their response. He thought about what Bruno would do in the circumstances, and his lips curled a little.

"Amateurs," he thought. He met Matt's eyes across the room.

* * * * * * * * *

Being at Western was weird. Some things were so familiar – dingy dorm rooms, coping with shared bathrooms and weird smells and constant noise. Some things were completely different. There was no Elmer expounding on the origins of the universe, no Sidney half-killing himself in toothpaste accidents, no Wilbur eating everything in sight. There was no Fish. There were no rules.

There _was_ Bruno. Bruno arrived an hour after Boots's parents left, travelling by train and bus as he'd always done, back in their MacDonald Hall days. Boots was sitting on the edge of his bed in the dorm room, his stuff still scattered around, feeling small and sick and a little scared, when the door banged open, and Bruno came in, carrying a large rucksack and dragging a trunk. He dumped both just inside the door.

"You're here! Wow, it's good to see someone I know!" exclaimed Bruno. "What are you doing? Whatever it is, stop! I met a guy who says there's a party on the 2nd floor."

Boots was grabbed, hugged, and dragged out the door in one whirlwind of motion. Bruno was still talking "Did I see a huge pile of books in our room? You know, if you tell me you've read your whole summer reading list, I might smother you in your sleep. I barely cracked open a single book all summer."

Boots laughed. "Nothing new there. How was the farm?"

Bruno turned into the staircase, grabbed the banisters, and jumped down 6 steps at a time. "Oh, you know, pigs, hay, the usual. My uncle let me drive the tractor, at least until the incident with the pond. That was pretty cool."

"The tractor? Or the pond thing? Do I even want to know about the pond?" Boots teased.

"Oh, both!" Bruno grinned over his shoulder at Boots. They stopped outside the door to the second floor. Bruno caught Boots by the elbow just as he was about to open the door. "God, it is so good to see you. I missed you like crazy."

Boots's heart jumped. Bruno stood in blue jeans and a white shirt, creased and crumpled from his journey. His hair was a mess, and his shoelaces were, as always, undone. His eyes sparked with revolutionary zeal. His grin was reckless. This was the dangerous, riot inducing Bruno. This was the lover Boots had so briefly glimpsed on the flutter boards by the pool, and dreamed of through sticky nights back home. This Bruno made even the medical textbook description seem like it might be exciting.

Boots felt his own mouth stretching in a grin, saw his own hand reach out to clasp Bruno's. He pulled Bruno back into his body for another hug, and murmured in his ear, "It's great that you're here." Bruno shuddered almost imperceptibly, and his arms tightened around Boots's waist. Boots felt him exhale in a sigh.

They jumped apart when they heard a loud SPLAT! and the closed door next to them shook. A split second later a loud voice hollered "Water balloon fight!" and there was the muffled sound of people squealing. Bruno and Boots looked at each other, and started to laugh.

Reaching around Bruno, Boots flung the door open onto the second floor, and said "Let's party, then!"

* * * * * * * * *

The coffee break hadn't helped Matt restore order – people were standing up and yelling at each other. Boots found himself standing up and walking towards the front of the room. Even as he walked, he was asking himself all the questions he had been asking since that first Tuesday night. Did he want to rock the boat? He and Bruno were new at being together; they were feeling their way to how it was going to be between them. It was already pretty damn good. Did he want to make that public? Especially now, when coming out in this public fashion had consequences spelled out in spray paint. His feet kept moving.

"C'mon people!" he heard himself say. "This is getting nowhere. We need a plan. We need a petition! We need a Committee!"

He banged on the table.

Everyone stopped talking and looked at him. Matt raised his eyebrows and started to smile.

A girl, the one he'd waved at, looked at him in confusion. "OK," she said, "but who's going to do it? We would need someone who could organize that kind of thing."

Boots felt the grin spread across his face. "Oh yeah, I know just who you need." He took a deep breath, shot a glance at Matt. "You need my boyfriend, Bruno Walton."


	3. Imperfect Fit

Boots shivered as he jogged up the steps to his residence hall. It was early October, and though it wasn't yet winter in Ontario, the early mornings could be chilly, especially if you were half damp from swimming practice. His skin felt icy beneath his clothes. A hot shower was definitely in order.

He walked along the corridor of the building quietly. Most people would still be asleep at this hour. He opened the door to his dorm room. Long experience had taught him that Bruno could sleep through anything from alarms to Sidney falling down the stairs and screaming as he struck every step. Sure enough, although he made no special effort to be stealthy while he gathered his towel and soap, the lump under the blankets that was Bruno did not even move.

The shower was shared by a group of three rooms, all of them occupied by guys. Boots could hear nothing but snoring from behind the other two doors. He shut the door and stripped out of his clothes.

"Ahhhh." Boots sighed as he stepped into the warm shower. He ducked his head under the spray and let the heat roll over him. Eyes closed, he groped for the faucet and increased the temperature of the water. When he opened his eyes again to grab his soap and shampoo, he noticed the room had filled with steam. Cheerfully, he washed the smell of chlorine off his skin, whistling tunelessly. He had just started to rub shampoo into his hair when the steam billowed as a cold draught blew into the room. The door clicked.

"What the _fuck_…?" Boots started to say, furious that someone would interrupt his shower.

Bruno suddenly appeared in front of him, clad only in boxer shorts, which he skimmed off quickly, pushing them over his hips and stepping out of them and into the shower in a single move.

"Out the way! I'm freezing here!" whispered Bruno hoarsely; shoving Boots to the back of the shower cubicle, out from under the spray, while he stepped in and sighed with pleasure.

"Bruno!" exclaimed Boots from between gritted teeth, "Watch it, it's slippery! Damn it! Now I have soap in my eye!"

Boots felt his skin pop out in goose pimples from the sudden cold of being pushed out of the stream of warm water – and the shock of having Bruno naked next to him.

"Aww, poor Boots. Well, I suppose I can bear to share." Bruno grinned. He tugged Boots closer to his body, back under the spray. He left his arm wrapped loosely around Boots's waist. Water sluiced over them both, rivers pouring over the planes of one boy's skin and dripping onto the other's body. Boots steadied himself, his hand coming up to rest on Bruno's freckled shoulder, kneading the warm muscle under his fingers.

Boots caught his breath. His body was responding rather predictably to the proximity of naked, wet Bruno. Bruno leaned his head back to take the spray of the shower full on his face, and Boots found himself irresistibly drawn to a trickle of water down his neck. He pressed his lips to where Bruno's neck joined his shoulder, lapping at the clinging droplets of water. When Bruno groaned softly, he felt the skin under his mouth quiver and vibrate.

Bruno's arm tightened, and he pushed Boots against the tile at the back of the shower stall. Boots gasped when the cold surface touched his skin. Bruno leaned in, and touched his lips to Boots's mouth. The first kiss was soft as a breath, whispering over Boot's skin. He slid his hands up, tangling them in the hair at Bruno's nape, tugging him back into a deeper kiss. Boots felt Bruno's tongue touch the corner of his mouth, and parted his lips. Bruno's arms pulled him even closer, bringing their lower bodies into contact. Gently, they rocked together, the friction of wet skin so exciting that Boots had to pull his mouth away to gasp in a lungful of air. Bruno's eyes were open, intent on his face. He began to rock a little faster. Boots could barely drag in his next breath.

Suddenly, there was a loud banging noise. "Melvin! Oh, Melvin!" The door rattled in its frame as one of their dorm-mates pounded on the door. "Get out of the fucking shower, Melvin. Some of us have class this morning." The voice sneered over Boots's name. Boots dropped his arms from around Bruno's neck, his body stiffening and pulling away.

"Did you lock the door?" Boots whispered urgently to Bruno. Bruno rolled his eyes and nodded. The handle of the door rotated as their impatient dorm-mate tried it.

"Shit, we can't walk out of here together!" Boots said, reaching to turn the shower off.

The door shook again. "Melvin! Get your ass out here!" called the obnoxious voice. Boots held his breath. Loud footsteps and muttering accompanied the disgruntled student back to his own room. A door slammed.

Boots jumped out the shower cubicle and grabbed for his towel, wrapping it quickly round his waist, grateful that his arousal had subsided at the interruption. More footsteps echoed down the corridor past the shower room. "Bruno! Come on, you have to think of something. You can't just walk out there!"

He turned to look at Bruno, who was still standing naked in the shower stall, his expression unreadable. His neck had a red mark on it.

Bruno continued to stare at him. "Bruno?"

Bruno shook his head slowly. "OK, give me your clothes. I'll go out the fire escape."

Boots grabbed up his jogging pants and swim team t-shirt that he'd worn into the bathroom and thrust them into Bruno's arms. Bruno was already pulling on his boxer shorts, grumbling as they clung to his still-damp skin. "You owe me for this, Boots O'Neil," he said, grimly. "I'll meet you back in our room."

Boots nodded frantically, and went over the window to shove it open. Bruno climbed through and out onto the fire escape, before jogging rapidly down the stairs. Boots shut the window and wrapped the towel more securely around his waist, before grabbing his shower kit and opening the door. His neighbour had come back out into the corridor while Bruno was climbing out the window. Boots desperately hoped he hadn't heard the two of them talking.

"About fucking time!" growled the other student, shouldering past Boots into the room. "What the fuck were you doing in here? Playing with yourself?"

Bruno said nothing, but walked quickly over to his own room. The door to the shower room banged shut behind him. He closed his own door with a gentle shove, and leaned back against it. Damn it. That had been much too close.

He could hear jeering outside in the hallway. "Hey, Walton, where'd you get that hickey?" Boots stepped away from the door, walked over to his chest of drawers and started to pull out some clothes for the day,

"Fuck you!" he heard Bruno say. Their door opened again, and then clicked shut. Boots turned around and looked at Bruno, dressed in his slightly-too-large clothes, leaning against the door just as he had done seconds before.

They looked at one another. Boots still couldn't read Bruno's expression.

Bruno moved away towards his bed, throwing himself down on his disordered blankets. He said nothing.

Boots carried on getting dressed, picked up his book bag and his wallet. He hesitated by the door, uncertain if Bruno had already fallen back to sleep. Bruno lay unmoving. Boots turned towards the door and reached for the doorknob.

"We can't keep doing this." Bruno's voice was muffled by the pillow. He didn't lift his head, didn't look over at Boots.

Boots swallowed hard. "OK."

Bruno looked up at that. "I mean it, Boots. We can't keep doing this."

Boots looked away, at his hand on the doorknob. "OK." He opened the door, closed it quietly behind him, and headed down to breakfast.

* * * * * * * * *

Boots got through the day mostly on autopilot, feeling exhausted. Thoughts chased each other around and around his head. The way Bruno's tongue had met and stroked his, his fear when his moronic dorm-mate had pounded on the door, Bruno's voice when he said they couldn't do it any more. He was taking down notes in class, but he had no idea what the professor was talking about.

It was Tuesday, which meant an LGBTQ2 meeting. Between them, Matt, Bruno, and Boots had masterminded a response to the vandalism incident. Bruno had whipped up a frenzy of support among students both from the LGBT Society and elsewhere on campus. He'd given impassioned speeches to anyone who would stand still long enough to listen on the vital importance of tolerance in universities. They had written letters to the school newspaper and sent a petition to the President. In short, they had put years of practice at MacDonald Hall to good effect to cause as much uproar as Bruno could possibly manage, and all without the customary threat of expulsion. Boots had almost burst with pride, even as he toiled over a hot photocopier.

Tonight, though, he could not keep his mind on the discussion Matt was leading. His thoughts were still circling endlessly around the same questions, the same fears. By the end of the meeting, he had a headache to compound his exhaustion. People were chattering, gathering up their possessions. Many of them called goodbyes to him as they left. Two girls he and Bruno knew quite well invited him to a late dinner with them, and suggested that they go pick up Bruno on the way. He lied and said he had a paper due. Finally, only Matt was left in the meeting room.

"So," Matt began with a grin, "When I was jogging across campus this morning, I saw someone very like Bruno climbing down the fire escape of your building. I waved, but I don't think he saw me. What on earth were you two up to at that time of the morning?"

Boots groaned, and covered his face with his hands.

Matt laughed. He pulled a chair up to where Boots was sitting and dropped into it. "That looks like there is a story in this! C'mon! Spill the beans."

Boots dropped his hands and looked seriously at Matt. "God, Matt, everything is so screwed up at the moment."

"Ah," said Matt, his smile fading. "Trouble in paradise?"

"I guess." Boots looked at his scuffed sneakers. "Bruno said this morning we can't do this anymore."

Matt blinked. "Do what? Be together? Be _gay_?"

"I don't know. Both, maybe. I don't know. He just said, 'We can't do this any more.'"

Matt stared at Boots. "Shit. I thought you were quiet in the meeting today. Are you holding up OK?"

Boots looked at him. "Yeah, I guess."

Matt reached out and patted Boots's hand. "Never mind, kid. It'll work out."

"Thanks, Matt." Boots stood up and reached for his coat. "I guess I can't put off going home any longer. Bruno should be back by now."

"Well, look, if it gets ugly, you know you can always come stay with me," Matt said, standing as well. "My sofa might be old, but it's comfortable. Just give me a call and you can sleep over."

Boots sighed. "I hope it won't come to that, but thanks." He made the effort to smile at Matt, then dropped his gaze to where his hands were fumbling with the zip on his sweater.

"Any time." Matt watched him for a second, then leaned in and touched Boots's chin. Startled, Boots looked up. Matt bent his head and pressed a kiss to Boots's lips.

At first, too stunned to move, Boots just let it happen. Seconds later, he recovered his wits, and pushed Matt away. "Matt? What the_ fuck _are you doing?" Boots felt his face heat up with embarrassment and anger.

Matt looked flushed as well. "I… uh. OK, that was probably a mistake."

"Yes, that was definitely a mistake." Boots was furious now, his headache redoubling as his emotions boiled over. "You're supposed to be my _friend._ God." He turned away, walked rapidly towards the door.

"Boots," called Matt, as he left, "Boots, I'm sorry! Damn it!" Matt kicked at the chair he'd been sitting on as Boots left.

Boots ignored him and carried on walking. He took the long route home.

* * * * * * * * *

Bruno was lying on his bed, still unmade from this morning, when Boots got back to the dorm. He was on his back, his hands folded across his stomach, apparently gazing at the ceiling. Boots threw his bag down on the floor at the bottom of his own bed, and sat down heavily on the edge to take off his shoes. Even though his stomach was tied in knots, even though he was still angry and confused, it was ridiculously comforting to see Bruno in that familiar pose.

When he spoke, Bruno's voice was mildly curious. "Where were you? I had to go to dinner without you."

"I was talking to Matt after the meeting, and then I walked back."

Bruno said nothing, but just sort of hummed in acknowledgement. Bruno sighed and lay back himself, mirroring Bruno's posture. "How was your writing seminar?"

Bruno grunted. "Awful, as usual."

Muffled music could be heard from across the hall. The same obnoxious neighbour from this morning was listening to heavy metal. Boots wondered idly how his mild-mannered roommate, who could have passed for Elmer's long-lost twin, could stand the noise. Perhaps he spent all of his time in the library.

"I didn't think there was anywhere in the world noisier than MacDonald Hall," said Bruno, suddenly. "But apparently I was wrong. Weird, the things you end up being nostalgic about."

Boots rolled onto his side, propped himself on his elbow, and looked over at his best friend. "Do you wish you could go back? Before all this?" With his free hand, Boots made a vague waving motion.

Bruno sat up. "Some things, sure. I miss the guys, and other people doing my laundry, and I guess just the familiarity of everything. Other things I wouldn't trade. The freedom. The late start most days." Bruno grinned. "You. Us."

Boots felt like someone had punched him in the stomach. "Us?"

"Of course, us." Bruno looked surprised. "Why do you sound shocked?"

"I thought… You said… This morning. You said we couldn't do this any more," Boots spluttered.

Bruno looked at him, his eyes wide. "I only meant we can't keep getting interrupted when we make out. You can't keep acting like we have to keep this a big secret. My nerves won't take it. And it puts me in a bad mood. I don't think my lab partner is ever going to talk to me again after class this morning."

Boots fell back onto his bed. He felt weak with relief. He sucked in a breath, and said, slightly hoarsely, "You don't have nerves."

"Yeah, I forgot, I leave them to you." Bruno stood up and came over to sit next to Boots on his bed. "Seriously, that's all I meant by what I said this morning. Have you spent the whole day thinking I was sorry we got together?"

"I don't know. Yeah. I didn't know what to think."

Bruno blew out an exasperated breath. "Sometimes, Boots, you're a total moron."

Boots laughed a little. "Yeah, I know. I just…Bruno, you were always so popular at MacDonald Hall. I worry that you're going to realize that us, being together, it makes you unpopular. It makes us different, weird. I mean, look at how the jerks around here treat us. And then you're going to be sorry, and maybe even hate me."

Bruno stood up and gazed down at Boots in shock, his face gradually creasing into a frown. Boots sat up. "Who are you trying to kid, Boots? I wasn't popular at MacDonald Hall. Sure, I was popular in Dorm 3, but I know what those morons in Dorms 1 and 2 said about us, that we were all misfits and rejects. And look at Dorm 3! Sidney falling over all the time, and Wilbur who never stopped eating, and, god, Elmer, who was probably the nerdiest guy in _history_."

Boots made a protesting sound.

"No, I _liked_ them. They're great; I wouldn't change anything about them. I'm just saying, that's what they looked like, you know, to people who didn't know them. And _us_ – they said shit about you and me from like _tenth grade_. Oh don't look so surprised," this aimed at Boots, whose eyes had widened considerably at this news. "They always said we were weird, because, c'mon Boots, we did _everything_ together. The only reason we didn't get hassled more was because no-one could figure out what was going on with us and Cathy and Diane."

Bruno was pacing now, waving his hands for emphasis.

"And I didn't care! I don't care! You _always_ do this – you care about totally the wrong things. I mean, worry about me if you want to," Bruno smiled a little grimly at Boots, "and I know you will. But don't worry about _that_! If you want to worry about me, I can give you a list of things you can worry about – whether I'm eating enough greens, whether I'm going to pass this stupid writing seminar, whether I'm ever going to make it past second base with you. But God, don't worry about me being _popular_. And as for the jerks here, I'm insulted you think I care if they like me!"

Boots tried to interrupt. Bruno pointed at him and said "No! I'm talking now." He sat down on the bed again next to Boots. "I don't want to be friends with jerks. I don't care if they like me. I care that _you_ like me. I care that we get to be together. Next year, we'll find a place for just the two of us, with a bigger bed, and our own shower, and we'll have sex every morning if we want to."

He leaned over suddenly, and kissed Boots hard, his hand reaching out to grasp Boots's arm. Boots wallowed in the heat of it, in Bruno's certainty. After a few moments, Bruno pulled away and looked critically at Boots. "You look like crap. I think we should just go to bed."

Boots opened his mouth again. Bruno laid a finger over it. "No, Boots. Just think about it for a while. Let's get some sleep."

He stood up and began to undress. Boots followed suit, and for the next couple of minutes, they rushed through their evening routine – bathroom, toothpaste, nightclothes. Boots came back into their room to find Bruno already in bed, lying on his back again, looking up at the ceiling. The only thing was, Bruno was in his bed.

"Uh, Bruno?"

Bruno looked over. "Come on, get in."

The narrow bed was barely big enough for both of them. After a couple of seconds of jostling, Bruno turned on his side, pulled Boots into his body, and curled up behind him, his chest pressed against Boots's back. Boots felt Bruno's arm circle around his waist.

Boots sighed. The headache receded even further into memory. Bruno's lips brushed across the back of his neck. "Nice?"

"Yeah. I had a bitch of a headache all day," said Boots, sleepily. Bruno's arm reached over him and flipped the light switch. They lay in the dark a while.

"Matt made a pass at me today," said Boots suddenly, the words out of his mouth before he could think about the wisdom of saying them.

The arm around his waist tightened a little, but Bruno made no other sign of distress. "I pushed him away," Boots hurried to add. "I told him I wasn't interested."

"Was he OK about it?" Bruno's voice had a shade of concern in it.

"He said sorry, but I was too mad to listen. It's going to be awkward for a while."

"Did you hit him?" asked Bruno, his arms not slackening.

"No," said Boots, nervously.

"Do you want me to hit him?" asked Bruno, with a chuckle that blew warm air over Boots's shoulder.

"No." Boots lay quiet for a minute. "You don't … I mean, you don't mind?"

"I mind. I'd kind of like to punch him." The arm tightened again, then loosened.

Boots lay still. "I don't want to hit _you,_" Bruno said, after a while.

"OK." Boots relaxed, felt his muscles go limp and loose.

They were quiet, just breathing. Finally, Boots slept.

* * * * * * * * *

He was too hot, and his bladder _ached_, and he had a bruise on his arm he could trace to a confused recollection of Bruno, energetic even in his dreams, elbowing him sharply in the middle of the night. The bed was far too small for both of them, he was pressed up against Bruno's morning erection, and his own was nagging at him for relief. It was still the best night's sleep Boots had had in weeks.

Sighing, Boots unravelled himself from sheets and blankets and Bruno. Bruno was still unconscious. His breathing pattern hadn't even changed when Boots's morning alarm went off. Boots slipped out the door to the bathroom. When he came back, Bruno was still asleep exactly as he'd left him. Quietly, Boots gathered up his shower stuff. This morning, no-one appeared through the steam to interrupt him. He took care of his morning problem, eyes closed, remembering their encounter the previous day. Later, clean and only faintly damp, Boots padded back to their room.

Looking bleary-eyed, Bruno was struggling to pull a striped shirt over his head. He was already dressed in last night's jeans.

"God," Bruno muttered, "Up this early two mornings in a row. You're corrupting me, Boots. I'm going to start craving breakfast at this rate."

Boots grinned at him and started to dress quickly.

Bruno eyed him in a jaundiced manner and groped under his bed for a sneaker. "How you manage to be so cheerful at this time in the morning, I don't know. It's just wrong."

Boots threw the other sneaker at Bruno's head. Fielding it neatly, he tugged it on.

Bruno had opened the curtains at some point. Now he stood and stretched in a weak patch of sunlight in the middle of the room. He reached out and snagged his leather jacket from where he had tossed it on his bed. He pulled it on, and turned back to Boots. For a moment, Boots saw the past and present collide – Bruno his best friend, with his striped shirts and shoelaces perpetually undone, plotting mayhem and making friends with misfits; Bruno, the wicked stranger in a leather jacket, a rebel with a cause. Bruno, who didn't care if he was popular so long as he was popular with Boots. Bruno, who was certain about Boots, certain enough to make plans for where they lived next year.

"What are you staring at?" Bruno looked down at himself, and then looked back up at Boots.

"God, Bruno," Boots almost whispered, "I think I'm in love with you."

Bruno grinned, the smile spreading over his face, warming his eyes. "I know, man. That's what I was trying to tell you last night."

Boots reached out, pulled Bruno into a hug. He held tight for a minute, listening to the leather of the jacket _scrunch_ under his clutching fingers. They still had stuff to figure out – another year of asshole dorm-mates, too few showers, and single beds, a dozen more bridges to cross – but Boots was suddenly, gloriously, certain that they would do it _together_. After a few minutes, he let go and stepped back.

"Breakfast?" said Bruno, his voice catching a little.

"Sure." Boots headed out the door, and watched Bruno pull it shut behind them. In the corridor, Bruno threw his arm over Boots's shoulder.

"So Boots, old buddy, old pal, remember I said you owe me one? I think you should help me with my writing seminar homework. I really don't want to have to re-take it."

Boots laughed, elbowed Bruno in the ribs, and they walked off towards the dining room.


End file.
